


And If We Ever Make It Home, I'll Tell You All The Things That Shaped Me

by liketreesinnovember



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Casual Sex, Drug Use, Drunk Sex, Drunkenness, F/M, Groping, Older Woman/Younger Man, Recreational Drug Use, Rough Sex, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:55:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24078601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liketreesinnovember/pseuds/liketreesinnovember
Summary: Another bloated discoAnother sniff of romance I'll forgetWe promised to ourselves before we came outWe'd do something we'd regretThese people are your friendsThis cunted circus never endsI won't remember anything you say- Arab Strap, "The Shy Retirer"
Relationships: Tyrion Lannister/Lemore, Tyrion Lannister/Septa Lemore
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10





	And If We Ever Make It Home, I'll Tell You All The Things That Shaped Me

Tyrion didn't know what he was doing in this shithole, but he’d been here for about a week and tonight there was a guy selling little blue pills and so he sat in the corner nursing his drink, the steady pulse of the base and the buzzing in his brain lulling him into a dull blissful trance, until someone tapped his shoulder and slid into the booth opposite him.

She was older than him, by about fifteen years at least, but not unattractive, dressed in booty shorts and a t-shirt with "WWJD" written in big block letters across her ample bosom.

Tyrion eyed her and realized she was the woman he’d seen on the street a few days ago dressed in a nun’s habit, asking for money for some made-up sounding convent. The difference in the way she was dressed now was palpable but he still recognized her features, even covered as she had been then and despite the amount of makeup she wore tonight.

"Hey," she said, tapping her nails on the table between them. "I told the bartender you were buying my next drink so don't pass out yet, okay?"

_ Well, that was charming. _ “Do you normally talk to drunk guys in clubs or do you just like dwarfs?” he asked, giving her his best leering grin.

“ _ God loves a drunk, forever and ever amen _ ," she recited with feigned girlish innocence. "Whatever you do to the least of my brothers...”

“You’re not a fucking nun,” Tyrion said, “nuns don’t go to places like this.”

“Rich little expat socialites with powerful fathers don’t vomit on sofas in places like this,” she said, her eyes glittering under the reflections of black lights, swirling the umbrella in her drink.

Tyrion realized then that she had been watching him for some time, not just tonight but the previous one, maybe even before that. Maybe she was someone his sister had hired to track him down. “You don’t know me,” he declared.

“Don’t I?” She laughed and looked over to the man who Tyrion had just got the little blue pills off of, who was currently trying to sell to some kids who did not look old enough to be there. “Good stuff, isn’t it? Makes your dick hard.”

“How would you know?”

She reached down under the table, in between his legs, and squeezed, without taking her eyes off his. “I know,” she sing-songed.

“That was just me imagining my face between your tits.”

“Uh-huh,” she kept her hand on him and the other toyed with the umbrella from her drink, put it in between her teeth, then took it out again. “Is it good? In your imagination?”

“I don’t pay for it anymore,” he said, frowning, pulling her hand away from him. He couldn't imagine his sister ever talking to this woman.

She smirked. “Must get pretty good up in there, then, huh?” She tapped his temple with two of her fingers, the same hand that had been on his crotch a moment before. “You’re probably gonna want to drink some water with that.”

“This is a scotch and water.” Tyrion took a sip of his drink.

Her lips curled in a genuine chuckle and it showed a smear of lipstick on her white teeth.

Lemore’s back was pressed against the wall of the phonebooth, her legs wrapped around his waist, feet braced against the opposite wall and his hands under her thighs as he thrust hard into her. That came back to him in flashes the next morning, and explained the chronicle of bruises on his own back and thighs that he found when he stumbled into the shower.

When he emptied the pockets of his discarded jeans from the night before he found a crumpled up wad of thin, yellowed paper which turned out to be part of a page torn from a phone book (who used those anymore?) with a number written on it and circled in blue ink. She’d written her name as well and Tyrion paused to admire how thoughtful that was of her, although that was one thing from the night before that he still had.

After spending most of the morning and a good chunk of the afternoon laying on his bed, feeling as if his brain were scrambled eggs and staring at the ceiling of his apartment while contemplating the question of what exactly he had taken last night, Tyrion decided to call the number. He was met with the hazy interference of an old dial-up and a sweet, elderly female voice said, “This is St. Baelinor’s, can I help you?”

_ Fuck. _

“Hey, um...is there a Sister Lemore there? Lemore Rhoyne?”

He heard the sound of the person on the other end hanging up.


End file.
